Winter at Cray

by Lucy Gillen

  ‘You did invite me to join you,’ she told old Emma, ‘if I fetched another cup, and I have.’

  ‘You’re a stubborn child,’ Emma Kincaid told her, but without malice. ‘Stubborn and determined.’

  ‘Like my great-grandmother!’ Louise retorted, and flushed at the laughter she saw in Jonathan Darrell’s eyes, and the dry cackling laugh of the old lady. She wondered how much of the turbulent feeling of excitement she felt was due to sheer anger at his bland lack of embarrassment after last night, and how much to his amusement at her being scolded by the old lady.

  ‘You look as if you’re about to lose your temper, girl,’ Emma Kincaid told her with a chuckle, as if she found the prospect to her liking.

  ‘I’m perfectly controlled, thank you, Great-gran,’ she said with an effort to keep her voice steady.

  Another cackle of laugher greeted her answer and the bright old eyes looked at her affectionately. ‘Just like I was,’ she told her. ‘A real rousing, red-headed temper, although we’ve seen little of it in the last few years, more’s the pity.’

  ‘A temper like that can be pretty hard to live with,’ Jonathan opined, with a grin at Louise. ‘A bit hard on a husband, I imagine.’

  ‘Not if he knows how to deal with it,’ Emma retorted with a chuckle, ‘and my Robert did.’

  ‘What about M’sieur Dupont?’ he asked softly, the brown eyes challenging her to change the subject, and Louise shook her head.

  ‘My life is my own affair, Mr. Darrell. I’ve told you before, it doesn’t concern you.’

  ‘Don’t tease her too hard, Jon.’ Emma Kincaid’s voice was more gentle than of late and she smiled fondly at Louise, reaching for her hand and holding it gently as if to lend support. ‘She had a very bad time with that rogue and she was well rid of him.’

  ‘Great-gran!’ She shook her head at the old lady, seeing the inevitability of it, even now. ‘Please—it isn’t of interest to anyone else.’

  ‘I remembered something about it,’ Jonathan’s deep, quiet voice broke into the tension between the two women. ‘Only the bare bones of it, but I do remember the case.’

  Oh no! Louise thought despairingly. Not even now, after four and a half years, could she bear to have the whole thing brought out into the open and talked about. It was just too much to expect.

  ‘It was a very bad time for Louise,’ old Emma told him, ‘but she carried herself well through it and I was very proud of her.’

  ‘Just because I was a fool,’ Louise said bitterly. ‘There’s no need to inform all and sundry, especially a—a journalist. I’ve had my fill of them and I want no more.’ Her vehemence, she thought, surprised him, and she cared nothing about whether he was offended or not. She raised her head, a stray strand of hair falling over her brow, her deep blue eyes glinting with defiance for his opinion even before he had voiced one.

  ‘I’m a widow, Mr. Darrell, if that’s of any interest to you, but I’m sure you know that already, don’t you? In your profession you’d know all about it, or don’t you deal in that kind of gutter-news?’

  To hear how bitter she sounded surprised even herself, and she did not meet his eyes for very long, finding his gaze disconcertingly sympathetic. It was not the reaction she had expected and for some reason it made her even more resentful. If only he had reacted in his usual offhand and rather insolent manner, she could have been righteously angry and told him to mind his own business.

  ‘I’m any kind of press that produces a good story,’ he admitted quietly, ‘but this is an old story, it seems, and in that case I’m definitely not interested in it professionally, so you have nothing to fear.’

  She sat holding her coffee-cup, her fingers white boned on the handle. ‘I don’t fear anything,’ she denied, ‘it’s just that I don’t like people prying into my life.’

  ‘Disturbing your little paradise?’ he asked, with a flash of his old manner, and at the sound of it, her growing self-pity gave way rapidly to anger again.

  ‘It’s peaceful here,’ she insisted defensively, ‘and I have as much right to peace and quiet as anyone else.’

  ‘No one’s denied it to you so far, have they?’ he asked, and something in his voice made her suspect more than mere comment behind the question.

  ‘No,’ she admitted cautiously, and set down her cup with studied care, almost waiting for him to follow up with more questions.

  ‘You’re worried about Henri Dupont?’

  The question was unexpected and she heard old Emma’s noisy intake of breath, though she said nothing, which surprised Louise. ‘I’m not worried,’ Louise denied, lifting her chin to lend emphasis to her words. ‘I have no reason to worry about him or anyone else.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He spoke quietly, but she was in no doubt that he knew or guessed that Henri Dupont’s presence in the house disturbed her quite a lot.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT was almost lunch-time before the stranger in their midst put in an appearance, and Louise steeled herself to face him when Hannah announced that Mr. Dupont would like a word with her before he left.

  ‘Show him in here,’ Emma Kincaid told her before Louise had time to speak, and Hannah, after a brief glance at Louise and a barely discernible shrug, turned to indicate to the man waiting in the hall that he should join the two women in the small sitting-room.

  He seemed momentarily disconcerted on seeing the old lady, but wasted no more than a slight frown on her before he turned to Louise. ‘Louise Dupont?’ The voice was deep and quite strongly accented and the unfamiliar name fell strangely on Louise’s ears.

  For a moment she wondered wildly if she would faint again as she had last night, but the initial shock of his appearance then had prepared her for this moment and she could only marvel at the likeness to Simon. ‘Mr. Dupont.’ She moved to greet him on legs that felt as if they might at any moment give way under her. It was maddening to feel so stupidly weak just because Simon’s brother had taken the trouble to come and see her, although in her heart she knew there was more to this visit than mere social politeness.

  ‘I had wished to see you alone, madame,’ he told Louise, and flicked a discouraging glance at the old lady, one which Emma Kincaid returned with interest.

  ‘Anything you may have to say to my great-granddaughter can be said in front of me,’ she told him firmly. ‘Louise has no secrets from me and I have no intention of letting her be upset by you or anyone else.’

  It was a gallant defence and one which Louise appreciated, but she felt it was not the right way to discourage Henri Dupont if his intentions were less than amiable. ‘Great-gran—’ she began, but an imperious hand dismissed her protest.

  ‘If this is purely a social visit,’ Emma Kincaid went on, ‘please sit down, Mr. Dupont. If you have anything else in mind I would advise you to leave before your position becomes irretrievable.’

  Silence hung for a long moment uneasily in the air as the two strong wills clashed wordlessly, then a gaelic shrug lifted the man’s shoulders as he acknowledged defeat. Addressing Louise, he inclined his head briefly. ‘I will call and see you again, madame, since my business is of a private nature, and perhaps we can discuss without the company of—’ another shrug, ‘la grande dame.’ A brief bob acknowledged his opponent in the battle of wills. ‘Bonjour, madame’ Another bob to Louise. ‘Madame Dupont.’

  Louise saw him to the door and out of the house, scarcely believing that the meeting she had anticipated with such dismay had ended so mildly. She closed the front door and walked back across the hall in something of a daze and it was not until she had more time to think about it later that it struck her what an anti-climax it was after his dramatic arrival the night before and her own emotional reaction to it.

  That night Stephen left the big sitting-room as Louise came downstairs from putting Robert to bed, and she guessed from his expression that he was about to mention some subject which displeased him. It could be that Jonathan Darrell’s popularity with her son and
their laughter earlier as he took Robert up to bed had aroused Stephen’s always short temper, for she knew he hated the now established routine every night, but she refused to spoil Robert’s pleasure in his new-found game for anyone, even herself. ‘Louise!’ His call was premonitory.

  ‘Hello, Stephen.’ She turned and smiled at him, hoping to turn the anger she saw darkening his eyes. ‘Robert’s nearly asleep,’ she told him, ‘I’m hoping he won’t be long going off now.’

  Stephen’s eyes, lighter blue than her own, were definitely disapproving as they flicked briefly in the direction of the stairs. ‘I wouldn’t have thought,’ he declared a little pompously, ‘that all that excitement was good for him just before he went to bed.’

  Louise bit her lip, determined not to be angered into saying something she would regret. ‘It hasn’t done him any harm, Stephen,’ she told him quietly. ‘He doesn’t laugh and romp as most little boys of his age and I really don’t see that it can hurt him. It’s so new to him, I can’t stop it in all fairness to him.’

  ‘And Darrell was sharp enough to know how to get the right side of you, wasn’t he?’ he commented sharply. ‘Making up to Robert was a sure way of winning your approval.’

  For so long now the normal fiery temper of a redhead had been dormant in Louise, but lately it had come more and more into prominence and now she felt it bubbling to the surface at the almost childish accusation. ‘That’s utterly ridiculous,’ she retorted. ‘I doubt very much if Mr. Darrell is interested in influencing me any way at all. What reason would he have anyway? Apart from anything else, I couldn’t make Robert like him, you know how impossible that would be.’ It was an unfair jibe, she supposed, but she was in no mood to consider his feelings since he had seen fit to behave this way. ‘I can’t say I share his taste,’ she added, ‘but I’ve no intention of spoiling Robert’s game, he takes to so few people.’

  Stephen took the jibe with tight lips, his eyes dark with his own temper. ‘Let’s go into the small room,’ he said, and took her arm, giving her little option but to go with him into the small sitting-room. It was chill, for the fire had burned low and the radiator was not in use.

  ‘I’m hoping Robert will be better when he starts school next year,’ she ventured, trying to avert further mention of Jonathan Darrell.

  ‘That’s something that should be dealt with soon,’ Stephen told her brusquely. ‘Where will he go to?’

  ‘I’m not sure!’ she answered slowly, sitting in one of the armchairs, prodding at the sulky fire with a poker as she spoke, unwilling yet to be pinned down on such a significant matter.

  ‘Well, obviously it can’t be here, on Berren,’ he declared a little impatiently. ‘The little hovel that was in existence has closed down and gone to ruin, so it will have to be somewhere on the mainland. You’ll just have to leave here, Louise, you have no choice.’

  ‘I know, I know!’ Her own indecision both annoyed and worried her, for she knew that sooner or later she would have to face the fact that she must leave the haven of the island and face the world again. It seemed sometimes as if she was waiting for someone else to make the decision for her. It was, she knew, something she must decide for herself, although Stephen had intimated often enough that he was more than willing to take the responsibility.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to make up your mind soon,’ he told her shortly, ‘for Robert’s sake if not for your own.’

  ‘For my own?’ She smiled wryly, gazing into the reluctant flicker of the fire, stirred into life by her ministrations. ‘I know exactly what I’d do for my own sake, Stephen. I’d stay here on Berren for the rest of my life. I love it here!’

  He shook his dark head impatiently, brows drawn closely together making him look, for a moment, disconcertingly like Robert in a disapproving mood. ‘You can’t bury yourself here indefinitely, Louise,’ he said, and his rather harsh voice softened as he leaned towards her and took her hands in his. ‘It isn’t natural. You’re far too lovely to be buried alive on a remote island; you should be living not existing in this—this twilight world of old women.’

  ‘But I’m happy here,’ Louise insisted, wondering uneasily if it was altogether true. ‘I tried living in your world once, remember, Stephen, and I didn’t find it so wonderful that I’m anxious to repeat the experience.’

  ‘You were unfortunate in your choice.’ His words sounded callous and unfeeling whether he meant them to or not, and she felt herself shrink inwardly at his easy dismissal of what had been, to her, the ultimate in despair and misery. It was as if he realised a moment later what he had said and he ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, Louise, that wasn’t very tactful.’

  ‘It wasn’t very kind,’ she retorted, ‘but you’re right—I did make an unfortunate choice, and that doesn’t relieve me of the responsibility of Robert’s schooling. As soon as the new year starts, I’ll take steps to find him a place in one.’

  ‘I could do it for you,’ he offered, and she shook her head.

  ‘No, no, I don’t think so, Stephen, thank you. It’s something I must do myself.’

  He took the refusal resignedly and glanced at his wrist-watch. ‘I suppose Darrell is using my bedroom as an office again,’ he complained, and Louise could not restrain a smile at the oft-repeated grumble.

  ‘I’m sorry you dislike your room-mate so much,’ she told him, ‘but really there’s very little I can do about it and I’m afraid the snow is likely to start again before very long. Do try and be patient for my sake, will you?’

  He nodded and his frown told her that he had only now recalled the real object of his calling her in here to talk. He had had little or no opportunity during the day to mention the incident of last night, because she had been either fully occupied or talking.to someone else, but the moment had been inevitable and she sighed inwardly as she prepared for it.

  ‘I’m just about sick to death of Darrell and his cockiness,’ he told her. ‘He’s so damned sure of himself.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She recalled last night’s incident unwillingly and wondered just how much of it he had seen before Essie blocked his view.

  ‘Louise.’ There was a wary distant look about him as he sat forward in his chair, so that with the light behind him, his face was in the shadows. ‘There’s—there’s something I’ve been meaning to mention to you about—about last night.’ He looked across at her expectantly, but she sat curled up in her chair, her chin resting on one hand while she gazed into the rekindled flicker of the fire. ‘Louise!’ He sounded not only annoyed but surprised at her lack of response.

  ‘Yes, Stephen?’ She was not, she told herself, obliged to meet him half way. If he wanted to make some comment on what he had seen or thought he had seen, then he must do it without any help from her.

  ‘It’s about Darrell, about—dammit,’ he exploded when she still made no move to co-operate, ‘you know quite well what I’m talking about.’

  She continued her study of the fire. ‘I presume,’ she said at last, ‘that you’re referring to the fact that you saw Jonathan Darrell in my room last night.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ he retorted. ‘And I saw enough to believe my own eyes, so don’t try to play the innocent.’

  Louise looked up, her eyes kindling anger as she thought of her own part in the incident. ‘Even if I was the innocent?’ she asked, and wondered just how accurate that was, remembering Jonathan Darrell’s accusation that she had asked to be kissed.

  Stephen looked uncertain for a minute, then he ran his hand through his hair again, the resultant tangle making him look far more human, Louise thought. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick,’ he told her, ‘but it was after midnight and you were in—in your nightdress, and unless I’m very much mistaken you were kissing him.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘I would have thought that called for some sort of explanation.’

  Louise clenched her hands angrily. ‘I don’t see why I have to explain to you,’ she retorted, ‘and if you’d see
n anything more than a second’s glimpse, you’d realise that he was kissing me, not the other way round. You may also be interested to know,’ she added with deliberate sarcasm, ‘that I slapped his face, but you didn’t see that, so probably you don’t believe it.’ She saw no reason to explain the sequence of events too accurately, but she had slapped Jonathan Darrell’s face and even the thought of it gave her a certain amount of satisfaction.

  He looked sheepish, twisting his long hands together between his knees. ‘Of course I believe you. I’m sorry again, Louise. If I’d realised the position last night I’d have hit him for you.’

  Louise smiled wryly. ‘I’m sure you would,’ she allowed. ‘That’s probably why Essie closed the door so quickly.’

  He shook his head. ‘I should have known,’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t be,’ she begged. ‘I just want to forget the whole thing.’

  ‘I—I was coming in to see how you were,’ he confessed, ‘but somehow—’

  ‘You were sidetracked,’ Louise smiled. ‘Not to worry, Stephen, I know you meant to. You really have no need to be jealous, you know,’ she added, ‘Jonathan Darrell isn’t my type at all.’

  * * *

  By next morning there was still no more snow fallen and the sky was even a little less sullen than of late, but the wind was bitterly cold and rough enough to stir the sea into a ballet of grey-green and white that swirled and ran all round the tiny island, hurling itself against the rocky coast with furious abandon.

  ‘No boat today either?’ Essie asked as they dressed, and Louise shook her head, a brush poised above the soft red riot of her hair, as yet unattended.